Alone Together
by TheAngryTori
Summary: The story of how Sághildr became Loki's best friend. Companion fic to my Avengers story, Sága. Loki/OC
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hello, and welcome! This is a companion piece to my other story, Sága. This will center on the events leading up to that particular fic, greatly focusing on my OC's relationship with Loki.

I probably won't be updating this regularly until that other story is complete. But I wanted to post this now, for LittleMissMia123. She's been one of my most devoted readers and reviewers, and she's going through a hard time. I wanted to devote the next chapter of Sága to her, but I've hit a wee bit of writer's block. I know this first chapter is horrendously short, but it's what I've got and I hope you enjoy it anyway despite that. LittleMissMia123, I hope this helps cheer you up!

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Chapter One: _Run Into You_

Loki Odinson had been wandering the castle grounds for hours. Thor and his friends had become too irritating to stand, so he had left them in search of something to quell his annoyance. His boredom was putting him on edge, making him easily angered and nearly murderous. Something interesting needed to happen before he took matters into his own hands.

Without warning, a small, dark figure darted around a corner and ran into him, face flat against his chest. His annoyance getting the better of him, he pushed her away—more roughly than specifically necessary—and snapped, "Watch where you're going, child."

Fury flashed through golden eyes, and she pushed him right back, with enough force to make him stumble back a step. "I am no c_hild_," she snarled.

Surprise overtook him first. He quickly gave her an appraising glance and realized that she was, in fact, fully grown—and quite well so, he didn't mind admitting—though clearly too petite to be an adult Asgardian woman. But before he had time to wonder about her race, his surprise and interest were eclipsed by anger, and he realized that she was shouldering her way past him and walking away without a second glance. He snatched at her arm, pulling her back to face him.

The look she gave him was so full of hate that he almost released her. Surely, he had not yet done anything to deserve all of that! But there was something beneath that hatred, a shame and sorrow profound enough to fuel it.

Before he could interpret that look, she was gone. Vanished entirely. His hand was gripping nothing but air. He glanced up and down the hall, but there was no sign of her anywhere, and no one else to have witnessed her disappearance.

Slowly, he straightened up and turned, heading around the corner she had come from. He could hear Volstagg's laughter all the way down the hall, and begrudgingly decided to return and see if they knew who the furious little woman had been. He strode into the room with as much an air of indifference as he could muster.

"Oh, brother! I fear you have returned too late! You have just missed Asgard's newest resident, Heimdall's daughter Sághildr."

He raised a brow, curiosity piqued. Perhaps they would prove to be useful for once. The odds were certainly in their favor. "Is that so?"

His answer came from Fandral, surprising no one. "Yes, and what an amusing, lovely, and _tiny_ little thing she is! Mortal-born, I'm sure you remember?"

In fact, he _had_ forgotten. That would explain her short stature. He forced a dangerously conciliator smirk, hiding his elation at this new turn of events. "You sound as though you've fallen for her already, Fandral."

"Oh, he was quite taken with her, as always!" Sif agreed with the usual bitter smirk she used whenever Fandral's attentions were fixed on another woman.

"I assure you, this time my love is true!"

"We have no question as to the authenticity of your many loves, friend," Hogun spoke up, his quiet voice silencing the room as always. "It is their many rejections that give us pause."

Loki lowered himself to sprawl out across one of the couches as the group of friends burst into raucous laughter. Even their miserable conversation could not dampen his renewed spirits, nor wipe the smirk from his face. He had wanted something interesting to disrupt his boredom. For once, it seemed his desires had been fulfilled.


	2. For Now

Author's Note: Hello again, my dear, sweet, _patient_ readers! I'm sorry it's been so long since my last update to this story. I've been working on a number of other projects, most notably my other story Death Takes a Wife. Between it and school and life, I've been a bit swamped. But I have been on _such_ a Hiddleston binge lately, and it made me realize how much I've missed writing Loki. I had some time this week so I decided to pick this up again (read: I wrote this while _in class_ all week). DTaW has probably been the biggest and most advantageous story I've ever attempted, and I'm quite sure my writing has changed and (hopefully!) improved since then. I'm interested to find out if you guys notice any difference!

Anyway, here's the next chapter of Loki and Sága's relationship. I really hope you like it! I think you will. ;)

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Chapter Two: _For Now_

For most of the feast thrown in her honor, Loki watched the little woman with great interest. Her father had been present at the very beginning, to introduce his daughter as etiquette required; but Loki had recognized the brief flash of panic that crossed her features when he took his leave and returned to his post, leaving her alone among this crowd of strangers. It disappointed him, that panic, such a difference from the arrogant girl who had pushed him back. But it was soon swept from her features, and the arrogance was back, as she raised her chin proudly and looked around with a challenge in her eye for anyone to try to deny her such confidence. Loki's mouth pulled into a pleased smirk, and stayed that way for most of the evening.

He was thoroughly amused at the tension in her eyes as women fawned over her small stature, and the reluctance in her body whenever men pulled her into a dance. She gave in with forced courtesy to every request made of her, though anyone with half a brain could see she did not enjoy it; but, fortunately for her reputation, Loki seemed to be the only such one present. She ate sparingly, snatching up morsels in between being tugged along by clumsy dancers, and tugged into conversations about how she possibly had borne life in such a primitive realm as Midgard for so long. They passed her around like a doll and touched her face and hair without permission, but she bore it all with her head held high and her shoulders squared, though he could see how it was wearing her down.

Eventually, her eyes closed and her mouth opened in an annoyed sigh as a hopeful dance partner pressed yet another goblet of wine into her hand. Her admirers had been offering the drink to her unceasingly, and thus she was obligated to drink it, though she had been looking longingly toward the kegs of mead and ale for the duration of the feast.

A woman stood at his side, vying for Loki's attention, though he had not once given it; and now he stepped away from her without a word or single acknowledgment, going to fill two mugs with mead and then striding over to the daughter of Heimdall. He glared at the man trying to speak with her, who quickly bowed his head and made some excuse and ran away. Relief flooded the woman's features and her shoulders relaxed for just a moment, before glancing down distastefully at the wine in her hand, as if wondering if she would still be required to drink it. Loki stepped forward, snatching the wine from her hand, setting it aside and replacing it with mead.

"So that's why he ran away," she said with a smirk, watching him closely. She raised the mug and took a long drink, draining half, and then lowering it with a pleased smile. "You've been watching me." It wasn't a question.

Loki took a swallow of his own mead, though not nearly as long. "You've been avoiding me."

"I most certainly have not," she defended, that challenging look returning to her eyes. "I have spent the entire evening dragged around against my will, as you have clearly seen. And I wanted to see if you would approach me first, as you clearly have."

His smirk grew. That so much confidence could be found within this small, inferior creature was both surprising and delightful. With the exception of Sif, who was far too arrogant for her own good, Asgardian women never had the courage to speak back to him, a son of Odin. "Then you _do_ remember how you accosted and then abandoned me in the hallway. Are you planning to apologize?"

She frowned, pulling herself up to her full height, which was entirely too short to ever begin to intimidate him. "I most certainly am not. I have nothing to apologize for."

"You pushed me."

"Because_ you_ pushed _me_," she insisted, "and called me a child."

He took a step closer and peered down at her, a much more capable intimidation. "Can you honestly blame me for that?"

The challenge in her eyes had erupted into a burning anger. "I can, and I _will_."

"Why are you so defensive?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" she answered in a harsh whisper. "Everyone in here thinks I'm some foreign object to be wondered at; I can only acquire your recognition as a living, thinking, feeling person if I defend that for myself."

"_Their_ recognition, maybe," he conceded, "but I know you see that I do not think that. And you do not defend yourself in this way to the rest of them; you only grin and bear it. So why are you so defensive to _me_? I mistook you for a child, but that does not deserve such fury. Why were you so angry at me that day, and why so today?"

"After how your brother and friends treated me, how else _should_ I be but angry?" she snarled, turning to walk away from him.

He would not let her escape this time. He snatched her arm, pulling her back to face him, frowning. "I have no friends. So tell me what those fools did to you."

Her eyes roamed his face, searching for any sign that he was lying to her. He was the god of deceit, and if he wanted to mislead her she would never know it; but in this instance, he had no desire to lie. After a moment, her eyes dropped down to look into her mug. "I…apologize. I assumed you were privy to our conversation."

He eased his grip on her arm, but did not let her go, lest she still decided to run even now. "I am not. What did they say to you?" he insisted.

Her jaw clenched, and she glanced around to ensure no one was listening in on their conversation. They may not be listening, but most everyone in the hall was certainly watching them closely, whispering amongst themselves with frowns on their faces. Loki sighed heavily. "I am not very well liked. In preservation of your burgeoning reputation, I will now take my leave of you." He bowed his head and turned to go; this time, it was she who stopped him with a hand on his arm. Surprised, he turned to look at her, and found her eyes pleading with him.

"Stay. I care not for what they think. And you deserve to know the crime for which you have so wrongly been accused. Just…not here," she murmured; and then, as if finally remembering to whom she was speaking, she dropped her hand and added, "…If that please you, Prince Loki."

He nodded, stepping back to her side. "That would please me well. But I _will_ hold you to it, and you _will_ tell me."

She nodded, taking another swallow of mead. She lowered her mug, and glanced at him with a bitter smile. "Of all the men to bring me a drink tonight, you're the only one who has not asked a dance in return."

"I am not greatly fond of such frivolous wastes of time," he confided, casting a distasteful glance toward those whirling and dancing around in joy. She seemed surprised.

"Indeed? Then why have you come tonight? I would not be here if I could possibly avoid it; but you are the son of Odin, the prince of Asgard. Surely you are free to do as you please?"

"I am _a_ son of Odin," he corrected with feigned nonchalance, "and I am free to do as would please my father."

"Ah, I see. And it pleases him for you to pretend to enjoy yourself for the sake of some strange, small daughter of a god whose novelty will soon pass and whose name will soon be forgotten?"

Loki grinned openly, pleased that she chose now to speak so openly with him. "You certainly are strange. But I cannot imagine that I will be forgetting your name, Sághildr."

She laughed, squinting up at him as if trying to figure him out. "Why are you so interested in me?"

He shrugged, taking a drink of mead as though his attention was not so difficult to command. "Because you are interesting, and I have been bored as of late. Also, no Asgardian woman has ever spoken to me with such blatant disregard for my position, or with such a lack of respect for the royal family."

She smirked; but there was a tension around her eyes that warned him of the coming return of her defensiveness. "You forget I am not of Asgard; my father is."

He opened his mouth with the intention of putting her at ease with him once more; but before he could speak, a heavy hand crashed down on his shoulder and Thor's booming voice cut him off. "Lady Sághildr, it is a delight to see you again. I hope my brother has not been too harsh with you."

Her guard was now fully raised, but she smiled and dipped her head in a false pretense of shyness. "On the contrary, Prince Thor, it is I who have been too harsh with him." She glanced up at Loki, her golden eyes shining. "I hope he will forgive me my mistake."

Loki concealed a smirk, bowing his head without taking his eyes off hers. "There is nothing to forgive. If memory serves, the first mistake was my own. In my eyes, we are _equal_."

He could see that she understood the meaning behind his words, the reminder that he did not think her an object or a toy, and she looked on him in muted wonder. Thor was too thick-headed to recognize the weight of their words, and laughed heartily. "I am overjoyed to hear it! Lady Sághildr, would you care to join me in a dance?"

Before the panic could fully manifest in her eyes, Loki placed himself between them. "Unfortunately, brother, the lady has just promised her next dance to me." He pretended not to notice the surprise in Thor's eyes, instead nodding toward where Sif sat, tearing into some roasted bird and laughing with Fandral. "However, if I am not mistaken, it has been some time since any man has taken Lady Sif for a turn about the room; I am confident she would gladly join you."

"Ah. Yes, indeed, I shall do just that." He peered over his brother's shoulder, looking down at the woman behind him. "I do hope for the honor of your hand later in the evening, Lady Sághildr."

"Without a doubt, Prince Thor."

Finally he turned and strode away from them, heading for Sif. When Loki turned around, Sághildr was draining the last of her mead with incredible ease for a half-Midgardian. She set her mug aside and glanced up at him with a sigh.

"I fear you will now have to endure the misery of dancing with me, as I am sure you are not the god of being _caught_ in a lie," she teased.

"I most certainly am not," he agreed, imitating her and coaxing a laugh from between her dark lips. "But it is worth it, to save you from the far greater misery of having to dance with Thor. That clumsy fool would surely crush you."

She glared at him, though it lacked the fire from before. "I am not nearly as fragile as I must seem to you. You forget I am the daughter of Heimdall."

He held his arm out to her, and she took it, and they headed toward the busy mass of laughing, cheering, frantic dancers. "I have not forgotten," he reassured. Leaning over far enough to speak into her ear, he whispered, "Try to stay close to me. I have a plan."

Before she could question him, they were swept up into the jaunty tune and absorbed into the dance. Loki fell into step, as was expected of his position, but he did not fall into the joy the others took from this foolish waste of time and energy. Sághildr likewise looked bitter and annoyed as they turned and danced; but she plastered on a smile as the partners changed and she found herself—of _course_—in Thor's arms instead. Golden-haired Sif now danced with Loki, looking up at him with a teasing grin and a challenge in her eye—though this only served to annoy him further.

"How can you look so miserable while _dancing_?" she demanded. "Do you ever find joy in _anything_?"

Loki ignored her entirely, knowing that nothing offended her more, and kept his gaze firmly on Sághildr, waiting for his chance. Sif was still trying to goad him into conversation when the dance shifted again and the partners returned as they were before. He practically pushed Sif away, and snatched up Sághildr's hand, pulling her close to him. "Come on," he commanded her, leading her through the throng of dancers without ever losing step, until they reached the edge of the group against the far wall. He raised his hand, brushing aside one of the many heavy tapestries that hung around the hall, and used his magic to create a passage for them through the wall. He tugged her through and into the adjacent hallway, closing the portal as soon as they passed through.

She leaned up against the far wall with a heavy sigh, letting her eyes drift closed. "Oh, thank you for that! It's so loud in there I thought I might die…" Even here, the thrum of music and conversation could be heard pounding through the wall. Loki also desired some peace and quiet, away from the roaring crowd. And he knew just where to find it… Without a word, he snatched up her hand again and began leading her further down the hallway, pleased that she followed him willingly and without a fight. "Do you think this wise? For me to sneak off away from a feast held in my own honor, unsupervised in the presence of the prince of Asgard?"

Loki tried to deny how greatly it pleased him that she still called him "_the_ prince," despite his prior correction, as though Thor did not cross her mind or even exist. No one ever spoke of him like that. "I thought you said you do not care what they think?" he teased, not letting up his grip on her small, brown hand.

"And I do not. But I would still rather not be known as a woman who runs off and hides in dark rooms with dark men for dark purposes…lest any of those leering fools get the wrong idea."

He smirked down at her. "_This_ dark man offered to leave you alone, reputation in tact. Never forget it was _you_ that begged _me_ to stay." A positively wicked grin spread across her face, and Loki felt certain he would never tire of seeing it. "Anyway, we are not hiding. Should anyone ask, you required fresh air, and I very graciously offered to escort you. I _am_ a prince of Asgard; they do not like me, but they will not dare question me."

"Ah, I see… So, great prince," she began, hurrying her steps to walk beside him rather than trailing behind, "where are we going?"

"Nowhere terribly exciting, I'm afraid. Should we need to make excuses, they must be believable. We'll go to the gardens outside of the feast hall."

He was certainly not expecting her to tug on his hand, pulling him to a stop, or to wrap her arm around his neck and pull him in close enough to kiss. He furrowed his brow and placed his free hand on her waist, not having anticipated such a turn of events, but certainly not averse to it. But she simply grinned that wicked grin again and spoke, each word flowing from her mouth with a white light his body recognized as magic. "Why didn't you just say so?"

This time when she disappeared, she took him with her. This was magic he had never seen before, and when the light dissipated, they were standing in the gardens. "How do you do that?"

She removed her arm from his neck and stepped out of his embrace with a shrug. "I have been able to for as long as I can remember. I do not know how or why."

Loki frowned; it was strange that she would possess abilities so separate from those of her father. "Your mother is of Midgard, isn't she?"

Suddenly her guard was up again, and the distance between them seemed insurmountable. "She _was_ of Midgard," she corrected brusquely, turning away from him and leaning against a low stone wall. "She had no magic. Your father believes my power is the result of my early and prolonged exposure to the Bifrost, visiting and receiving visits from pa—my father."

There was something about her sharpness in speaking of her mother—who Loki now remembered had died, which was why she had come to Asgard—that caused the pieces of her strange puzzle to fall into place. He stepped up beside her at the wall, watching her closely and speaking gently. "Sághildr… What did Thor and his jesters say about your mother?"

Her eyes closed tightly, and her bottom lip quivered, but she did not give in or cry. "It's nothing. I should not be so affected by it. They found it thoroughly amusing that my…mother died…of old age, at 87 years. I know that must seem absurd to you who have lived for centuries, but…" Her eyes snapped open, full of fury, and she brought her fists down on the wall with enough force to crack the stone. "But my mother just died and those _bastards_ have the nerve to _laugh about it_." She took a deep, ragged breath, relaxing her hands and smoothing them over the cool, cracked stone. "Forgive me for lashing out, Prince Loki."

He grabbed her arm, turning her to look him in the eye. "_Don't_," he gasped. "You do not need to ask for my forgiveness, and I am sure you never will." He thought of his royal mother, and what it might be like to lose her to death, never to see her again—Frigga, who always loved both of her sons equally, who lit up with joy whenever Loki joined his family at dinner, and who looked on with pride and not disappointment when Loki chose books and sorcery over physical strength and might. He had never before thought of such a thing, had never imagined life without his mother's love and compassion and gentle strength. The thought was far too painful to be borne.

And yet here was this young child—for a child she must be, with a mother of less than 90 years, though he would never again call her that after tonight—bearing such torment with greater strength and endurance than Asgard's finest warriors; and she was asking _his_ forgiveness for her fury at those who would mock her boundless agony?

"Sághildr, I am _so sorry_ for your loss," he told her, trying to express his sincerity. She looked up at him, her bright eyes swimming with unshed tears, and it was as if she saw right through him, straight to his very core, and recognized that this was not a trick. "And if you let me," he murmured, brushing his knuckles against her cheek, "I would love nothing more than to help you exact revenge upon my brother and his idiot friends."

A laugh escaped her, and she leaned against his hand with a soft smile. "I thank you for your kind offer. But it is not revenge I wish for. I only wish that they were not such ignorant cretins."

Loki grinned, brushing his lips against her forehead. "Welcome to my life." She laughed again, and then she was leaning up against him, letting him wrap his arms around her comfortingly. How long had it been since he had held a woman merely for the sake of her comfort? Even more, when had a woman ever desired any comfort from him? All looked on him with distrust, uncertain whether his affections were true (they weren't). But this strange, small girl had no fear that he might be deceiving her (perhaps because, Loki suspected, she was not easily deceived); and it somehow made him want not to deceive her. Perhaps this would be his greatest mischief, to bare himself so fully to this little foreign half-breed, exposing to her everything of himself that no one else was allowed to see.

Eventually she pulled away from him, hopping up to sit on the wall and leaning back to gaze up at the stars, those countless distant planets and systems and realms. He caught a glimpse of her dangling feet, and saw that she wore a pair of simple, black, lambskin slippers. A fresh wave of surprise and amazement washed over him, that she had worn no heels and made no attempt to augment her height to better fit in with her new compatriots. Impressed and glad at her abundance of confidence and self-assuredness, Loki rested his arms on the wall beside her, looking out over the surrounding gardens.

"I do not wish for revenge," she suddenly murmured, not lowering her gaze. "But if my talent for travel would ever be useful in your mischief—particularly against that despicable Fandral—know that I will very gladly aid you."

"Oh," Loki said with a broad grin, "I am certain we can come up with _something_…" She laughed, and then they fell into companionable silence. Loki turned to look at her, and found her already watching him with a strange, curious grin. "What is it?"

She shrugged. "I do not know. Something about you… It just feels as if we are going to be very good friends for a very good time, despite our…rough beginning." She sighed, returning her gaze back to the stars. "In fact, it feels as if we already are."

With a smile on his face, he placed his hand over one of hers. "I thought you might make for a temporarily-interesting diversion. But there is much more to you than meets the eye, isn't there?"

"Oh, I certainly hope so," she purred, that wicked grin back in full force. Yes, they would get along quite well.

Sitting on the wall brought her much nearer to his height, though she still didn't quite reach him. Perhaps it was the starlight reflected in her eyes, or the magic within her enticing and attracting the magic within him—or perhaps it was just that _damned grin_—but Loki found himself leaning toward her, curious to see if she would let him kiss her. She only watched him closely, not leaning in but not pulling away, as if equally curious to see whether he would go through with it.

He was close enough to feel her breath on his cheeks, so nearly brushing his lips against hers, when she suddenly straightened up with a gasp, turning away to look toward the palace, her attention wholly consumed in something that wasn't him—which he found simply unacceptable. "What is it?" he demanded, though if she noticed his harsh tone, she did not acknowledge it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, not looking away from whatever it was she saw. "They have noticed our absence. Thor is asking where we are."

He frowned, looking over his shoulder toward the palace. They were too far away to hear the raucous music, let alone any hint of conversation. "How could you possibly know that?"

A corner of her mouth quirked up, into the very barest hint of a smile. "I have my father's sight and hearing," she murmured, as if it was nothing, sliding off of the wall and straightening her pale green dress, and then put her arm through his and pulled him along the path. "Come, we should go."

He followed along, too astonished to do anything else. "You… You can see like Heimdall?"

She glanced up at him. "Not quite so well or so far as papa—I mean, father. And he can see through time, which I surely cannot. But aside from those limitations, yes."

Loki considered this new information for a moment, and then regained himself, easily using his long legs to put himself at her side as they neared the doors leading into the hall. "Oh, you and I are going to get into _so much_ trouble together," he promised with a grin, pulling open the heavy door and leading her inside.

Thor was nearby, and noticed the door open and the duo that reentered the hall, and strode over to them with a grin on his face. "Loki! Lady Sághildr! There you are! I was just wondering to where you had run off!"

Before Loki could make their excuses, Sághildr stepped forward, bowing her head. "Please forgive our absence, Prince Thor. I fear my Midgardian parentage does not allow me so great endurance as yours, and it seems I have had too much wine. Your brother was kind enough to escort me outside, that I might clear my head." Loki was impressed by how easily the lie slipped from her tongue, and watched as Thor bought it entirely and without doubt.

"Did he indeed? I am impressed. Has my brother finally found a woman capable of eliciting his kindness?" Thor teased, eyes sparkling with mirth.

"I may enjoy a bit of mischief, brother, but you know I am not cruel," he responded good-naturedly. "The lady was quite ill. Indeed," he added, peering down at Sághildr, having come up with a plan to allow their complete escape from this wretched feast, "I still assert that you should allow me to escort you home. I am sure my dear brother will be willing to make our excuses."

"I most certainly will," Thor agreed, putting his hand on her shoulder with surprising softness. "There is no need to make yourself more ill, dear lady. Loki will see you safely home."

She looked up at the two of them with a gentle smile. "I fear I cannot resist the both of you together. I have no choice but to give in. Thank you both for your kindness and understanding."

Thor took her hand and kissed it with a grin. "It is nothing. I hope you do not feel ill for long, Lady Sághildr. I am very much looking forward to seeing you again soon."

"As am I, Prince Thor."

Loki nodded to his big-hearted but thick-headed brother, and led the lady through the crowd and out of the hall. When they were finally outside of the range of vision of any revelers, he stopped and looked down at her. "Am I correct in assuming that your power will allow you to return home without my escort?"

"It will," she answered softly, watching him carefully.

"Then I will take my leave, and let you go on your way."

"Thor will be expecting you to be gone for some time," she pointed out, and he nodded.

"Yes, he will. So I will go find my own amusement with my books for a while before returning, if I do return at all. I assure you, my presence will not be missed, except by my brother."

"And by all of the women who were vying so hard for your attention, and who you deliberately ignored," she teased.

Loki did not allow anyone to tease him save for his brother; but he decided he could extend that exception to her as well. He grinned. "My attention was too wholly fixed on the woman who did not want it."

She matched his grin, though he could also see the beginnings of a blush work its way over her cheeks. "And now I have finally caught you in a lie, as I cannot imagine any woman who would willingly refuse your attention."

Emboldened by her words, he once again leaned in to kiss her; but this time she pulled away and so, much more reluctantly, did he.

"I'm sorry," she told him softly, without lowering her gaze from his. "But the romantic entanglements of the gods are legendary for their fickle, temporary nature. I do not want you to tire of me so soon." She placed a hand on his shoulder, rising up on her toes and stretching up to place her soft lips against his cheek, and then stepping back away from him. "Rather than your love for a night, I would have your enduring friendship, Loki." The words fell from her mouth with that strange white light, swirling around her so thick that he almost missed the way her eyes brazenly roved his body, and that wicked grin made one last appearance, and she murmured, "_For now…_"

Then she was gone, and it was decided. He would give this mad woman his friendship, wholly and sincerely, without hesitation and with no other motive than that she desired it. But if she ever changed her mind…

…Then he would give her _so much more_.


	3. With You by My Side

Author's Note: Hello again, dears! UGH, I forgot how much I love writing Loki! Especially pre-Avengers Loki, when he's still sweet and semi-innocent, before he found out that his whole life was a lie and lost his sanity. Good times.

Anyway, yeah, I'm still on a bit of a Loki kick, though I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again. Hopefully this will be enough to tide you over until then! I had a lot of fun with it. Heimdall gets to be a protective daddy, Sága gets to be a badass, and Loki gets to be a flirt, so basically everyone has a great time. I hope you like it!

OH! Before I forget! So this was originally intended to be just a prequel to Sága, nothing more. And it still will definitely be that. But I was thinking, once that's done with, I could maybe continue with like an alternate version of that story, where she still gets to meet Bruce and is super excited about it, but she's doesn't fall in love with him because she's still totally in love with Loki. Does that sound like something you guys might be interested in? Please let me know what you think!

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Chapter Three: _With You by My Side_

When she left Loki in the hallway, Sághildr reappeared at the end of the rainbow road, deciding to pay her father a visit before returning home. "Papa?" she called gently, not wanting to distract him if he was preoccupied.

He turned to her with a small smile. "You have returned quite early, Sága. Did you not enjoy yourself?"

She sighed, pulling her hair back and wrangling it into a thick braid. "It was very kind of the All-father to arrange this in my honor; but you know I have never been fond of feasts, nor of meeting new people."

Her father chuckled lowly, returning his gaze to the depths of space. "Yes, I know. Though I saw you dancing with the two princes, and you seemed to be enjoying yourself then."

She smiled, tying off the braid with a thread of magic. "Yes, that was not so bad. I am still not sure about Prince Thor; but I do think I have somehow managed to find a friend in the Trickster."

"I noticed that. I also noticed how you suddenly disappeared from my sight while dancing with him."

"Did I?" she asked lightly, as though it meant nothing. "I did not realize."

Her father hmmm'ed lowly, adjusting his grip on his greatsword. "Assure me that I do not need to warn you of the dangers of pursuing a friendship with the mischief-maker."

"You know I am cautious, papa, and not easily deceived." She stepped over to the edge of the bridge and sat, feet dangling, looking out at the water as it fell off the edge of the world. "I think he is just…lonely."

"He is not a pet, my darling; not some sad stray for you to rescue. He is deceitful and dangerous."

Sága laughed softly to herself, thinking of the menagerie of animals she had "acquired" throughout her life on Midgard. "I know that. I do. But it's just…" There had been something in the way that he had told her, "I have no friends," something more than a denial of association with Thor's friends. She could see almost anything, and had recognized the complete lack of emotion, the same she felt whenever she thought of Midgard and anyone there except for her mother. "I know you are not fond of him. But I think he and I are…" she trailed off, searching for words that evaded her.

"…I…know you have not had it easy," her father began slowly, "especially now that Eira…" He trailed off as well, as unable to say the words as she was to hear them. After a moment he cleared his throat and began again. "I am happy for you to receive companionship from wherever you may find it. Just promise me you will be careful. I do not wish to be responsible for the death of a prince of Asgard, should he hurt you."

She laughed, knowing that he meant every word, and stood to her feet, stepping over to her father's side. His eyes did not look directly at her, but she knew he saw her all the same. "I will be careful, papa. And if he hurts me, I will kill him myself." She rose up on her toes and kissed his nose. "I love you. Goodnight."

She turned to walk along the road back to their home, but he called out after her. "Sághildr! About…killing…" She whirled around, brow raised, totally taken aback by the statement. "I spoke with the king tonight. I wish for you to take my place here, when I must be away at war. Someone must guard the Bifrost, must guard the realm; and there is no one I trust above you. Tomorrow, you will begin training with the royal instructor; alone at first and then, when you are ready, you shall train with the princes."

"Papa—!" She ran forward, wrapping her arms around her father's neck, pressing her face into the cool metal of his armor. "Oh, papa, thank you!" He laughed, setting her back down on the ground, and she grinned up at him. "I will become a great warrior, and defend Asgard. I swear I will make you proud."

"You already have, every day, my darling Sághildr." He kissed her forehead, his beard tickling her skin. "I love you, too. Now go on. Go to bed. You have a busy day tomorrow."

With a grin on her face, Sága turned and walked along the rainbow bridge, heading for their home on the coast.

It was a long walk; but the night air was cool and refreshing, and she cherished the time to sort her thoughts. Having grown up on Earth, she knew all the stories of the Asgardians—though she was familiar enough with this realm to know that many of those were blatant fabrications, the failing attempts of men to understand those they considered to be gods. What she could glean out of the insanity of the stories of Loki was that he was a manipulative, deceptive asshole.

But then she had actually met him, had been on the receiving end of something akin to his compassion and affection, had actually seen the boundless intelligence in his eyes, and then… And then, God, he'd said that about being sorry for her mother, and she could see that he had meant it. There'd been a look in his eyes that assured her he understood what it was like to be despised by everyone except for the woman who'd birthed him. There was something in him that she could understand, something raw and untendered, something that made him more dangerous than any of them could ever know. And that same something was in her, too.

She had not expected him to be so attractive, and damn, she could not deny that he was. He looked like no man she'd ever known, on Asgard or on Earth. The closest thing she'd ever seen to his slender, liquid grace had only been spied from afar, among the elves of Alfheimr; and yet he looked like no elf she'd ever seen, either. His pale skin and dark hair were different from any Asgardian she knew; and they drew focus to his sharp, intelligent, absorbing eyes. She'd almost let him kiss her because of those eyes, the way they pulled her in and kept her there, as though that's where she was supposed to be. If she hadn't heard Thor say her name, there's no telling what she would have let him do.

She ran her hand through her hair with a sigh, finally coming to her new home, the "cabin" she now shared with her father. The architecture was unlike anything she'd known on earth; but she had brought a number of trinkets and decorations from her past life, and the place was beginning to feel like a home. Father was rarely there, and she suspected he had had this place built wholly for her benefit, just so she would have a place to live should she ever come here. Momma dying hadn't been how they had intended it to happen; truly, she didn't think papa had ever really considered the repercussions of loving a mortal woman. He saw everything, in all the nine realms, and knew better than anyone that all mortals die some day. But his wife had been an exception, and her death had affected him in ways unimaginable.

Saga stepped into her room, surprised to find a long parcel of brown cloth, banded with green. She unwrapped the fabric, mouth falling open when she finally got her hands on the brand new sword within. It was perfectly balanced, but heavier than any sword she'd ever owned, and somewhat longer, clearly made for an Asgardian warrior. It would be an adjustment for her to learn to bear its weight, but she was determined.

She set it aside reverently and stripped of her dress, leaving it in a heap on the floor. She tugged on a loose tunic and a pair of leggings, and padded into the kitchen to make tea, hoping to relax her body and calm her mind before lying down and trying to sleep.

More than anything, she was looking forward to her training so that her father could have some rest. She understood that he was immortal, and did not tire or grow weary as she did. But he was also her father, and a part of her resented this king for expecting him to stay at his post at all times, except for when he went off to fight a war. Especially now, consumed with the grief he hid so well. She wanted to be able to watch the gate for him—not so he could go off to fight, but so he could get some rest and finally mourn his wife.

She sat on her bed, wrapped herself in a quilt, hugged her teacup close to her chest…and tried not to think of her tired father or her deceased mother.

Against her will, her eyesight began to drift, and before she knew it, she was watching Loki. He had indeed found himself amongst books, in what she assumed to be a library. He was perched on a wide windowsill, one long leg stretched out far in front of himself, the other bent and pulled up to his chest. An open book hovered before his face as he leaned back, arms wrapped loosely around his waist. He looked so at home here, so content, with even a hint of a smile gracing his lips. It did not sit well with her to watch people without their knowledge, especially people she knew, but sometimes it was more difficult to control; and he looked so strangely unguarded that she didn't want to look away.

Drinking her tea, she glanced at the book that had so absorbed him enough to make him this vulnerable. As she had already expected, it was a treatise on rare forms of magic—and the pages he was flipping through were concerned specifically with transportation magic. With a sigh, she remembered the All-father's warning—more like _threat_, honestly, and the thought of it still made her body bristle—and made a mental note to speak with him soon, and discourage him from pursuing such interests.

With one final, lingering look at his noble profile, illuminated by the light of the stars through the window, she turned her sight away and restricted it to the confines of her bedroom. She drained the rest of her tea and set the cup aside on her nightstand, falling back to her pillows and burrowing beneath her blankets. She would have a hard day tomorrow; but, God, there was no way it could be worse than that damned feast.

* * *

The next day was much worse than the feast—and the day after that, and the day after that, and every day for weeks and months. Her body grew sore in ways she had never imagined it could, and she ended every day by wrapping her wounds and collapsing into bed, utterly exhausted. Brandr was a hard man and a harder teacher, and seemed to have made it his goal in life to break her completely, in every way imaginable. He pushed her far beyond her limits, then cursed her for being so weak, spurring her to further anger and weakening her senses as she tried to attack him, blind with rage.

And then one day he pushed too far, and discovered just how strong she could be.

They had been fighting with training swords, blunt rods of metal, equal to the weight of her sword but only able to crush rather than slice. He had her on her back and stood above her, one booted foot on her wrist to keep her from swinging up at him, the other bearing down on her chest and making it difficult to breathe and impossible to move.

"I thought that you were weak, but I was wrong. You are so much less than that. You are _nothing_," he spat, "and certainly not worth my time. Damn your birth—and damn the parents that birthed you! Your mother was a_ slut_, and your father was a _fool_ for ever giving her his cock!"

Something inside her snapped. She shouted up at him, some wordless cry beyond any language, letting the magic fill and consume her. She vanished in a flash of white, reappearing behind him as he stumbled from the sudden lack of her presence beneath him. She took full advantage of his loss of balance and hit him hard, pleased with the crunch made by the heavy blow. Before he could turn and block her, she disappeared and reappeared on his opposite side, landing another hit just beneath his ribcage that made him howl in pain. When she disappeared the next time, he tried to anticipate her; but she didn't appear where he expected her to and she caught him off his guard again, bringing her sword down on his leg, forcing him to his knees. His arm shot up to hit her, but she blocked it easily. Grabbing the rounded blade of the sword, she used the leverage of his blocked sword to deck him in the jaw with the handle of hers, throwing him to his back.

She snarled above him, raising her sword up high to bring it down on his head; but even in her senseless fury, she couldn't bring herself to land it. He sensed her hesitation, lurching up to catch her with the sword still gripped in his hand. But her body still glowed with white light, and before he could come close she vanished and reappeared behind him. Spinning on her heel, she landed a heavy blow against his ear, powerful enough to lift him from the ground and throw him halfway across the training circle where he skidded to a stop, the training sword falling from his limp hand.

She stalked to him slowly, just to make sure he was still breathing, though she wouldn't greatly care if he wasn't. His chest was heaving as he watched her approach, eyes wide and blinking against the blood that flowed from the gash on the side of his head.

"Better," he coughed, gasping for breath, "better. Never hesitate. You fight with gods now, not your pathetic mortals. You are too weak to be able to afford mercy."

She threw her sword away, denying herself the temptation to flatten his skull and show him merciless. Instead, she spat on him, only half surprised when it came mixed with blood. "_Never insult my parents again_," she growled lowly.

There must have been something wild and threatening in her look, something that convinced him to lick his lips and nod. "Fine. Fine." She turned and strode away from him, her body quaking. "Sághildr!" he gasped, and she hesitated but did not turn to face him. "Take… Take tomorrow off."

She made no acknowledgment that she'd heard him, and vanished from the training ground, reappearing to stumble through the front door of their home and trudging to her bedroom to assess and dress her wounds.

Her muscles screamed in protest when she woke the next day, so she allowed herself to go back to sleep. She finally crawled out of bed around midday, and after a quick meal of some unknown fruit (she was still learning the names and flavors of Asgardian fare) and a steaming, soothing bath, she decided to try to find the library in which she'd seen Loki after the feast. She hadn't seen him since that night, and she tried to deny how badly she wanted to.

She redressed her wounds and slipped into a pair of brown leggings and a white tunic, too used to the clothes she'd worn for training to even consider wearing a dress. Then she slipped into her boots and wrapped a green cloak around her neck, pulling the collar high to hide a particularly nasty bruise on her jaw, and pinned it in place with a tiny golden greatsword—her father's symbol, in case any of the palace guards tried to stop her and bar her entrance.

Sága appeared just outside the front doors to the palace, not willing to exacerbate the All-father's distrust for her magic by accidentally showing up somewhere she shouldn't be. She kept her head down and skirted around the guards, moving quickly through the winding halls, until finally she came to the library she'd seen so long ago.

It was blessedly empty when she entered; she thought about looking around to find Loki, but was so utterly awed by the multitude of books and scrolls and tomes that all other thought escaped her. She practically ran through the stacks with a giddy smile, cutting herself off when she found ten texts to read, and settled into a plush armchair. She felt positively blissful there, surrounded by paper and ink and leather.

She lost all track of time, and didn't realize how dark it had become until the door opened, startling her from her reading. She looked up from the book, a history of the völur, to see Loki Odinson striding toward her, rubbing his fingers against the palm of his opposite hand. His steps faltered when he looked up and saw her, surprise crossing his features before settling into a pleased smirk. He waved his hand, and another armchair glided over the carpet and settled across from her; and he placed his feet on the cushion and sat himself on the back, placing his elbows on his knees and peering down at her.

"Hello again, Sághildr."

She grinned. "Hello, Loki."

His smirk grew. "I see you have found my…sanctuary," he said, gesturing around the library.

"Oh!" She ducked her head, slowly shutting the book in her lap. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize this was yours. I wouldn't have intruded, I just—"

"No, no," he cut her off, "these are not my personal quarters. It's just that no one else ever comes here. But you actually do seem to appreciate the knowledge to be found," he said, gesturing at the books piled around her. "You are surely welcome here."

She smiled up at him, surprised and glad that he was willing to let her into this world of his. "Thank you. I just wanted to spend my day off with a bit of comfort. And...I suppose I was hoping to see you again."

"I was hoping to see you as well." He hopped down, sitting regularly in the chair, back on her level. "In fact, many have. By now, the whole realm has surely heard that Brandr was beaten within an inch of his life by the mortal-born daughter of Heimdall."

Sága frowned. "What do you mean?"

He cocked his head to the side. "You don't know? Brandr has been with the healers since yesterday, badly concussed."

"I…" She glanced down at the floor. "I did not realize. He seemed fine when I left him." He was staring at her incredulously, and she shrugged. "He insulted my mother."

Realization dawned in his eyes, and he nodded. "Ah." He reached across and placed his hand over hers. She could feel his eyes on her, but could not bring herself to meet his gaze. "Did you know, Sághildr, that it was over a decade before Thor and I ever bested Brandr in combat?"

She laughed. "Oh, now you _must_ be lying to me!"

"No, no, it's true!" He grinned, leaning forward, eager to tell his story. "Mother didn't want us learning to fight. Of course, we did it anyway. We thought ourselves so very strong then, beating each other with sticks in the gardens," he laughed. "And then Frigga finally gave in, and Odin hired Brandr to 'instruct' us. He did nothing but beat the shit out of us for _years_. In fact, I am convinced those were father's exact instructions."

"You're kidding me!"

"I assure you, it's all true!" She laughed, more out of delight at his excited expression and sweeping hand gestures than anything else. "Eventually we were able to hold our own, but it was still some time before either of us defeated him. And _you_ managed to do so in a matter of days. That is quite an achievement."

She rolled her eyes and shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I'm sure he will accuse me of cheating, since I used my magic to do so."

All of his good humor vanished immediately, brow wrinkling, his mouth pulling down into a frown. "Why would you say that? Did he tell you to not use magic?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes, on our first day. He said there is no place for magic in combat."

Loki positively seethed, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Pay no heed to that bile, Sághildr," he snarled. "He only wishes to restrict what could be your greatest strength. If _you_ are not to use what comes naturally to you, then_ he_ should cut off his own right arm before going into battle. Or I could cut it off _for_ him…"

He looked furious, and ready to go now to amputate Brandr; so she leaned forward and placed a hand on his tightly clenched fist, trying to soothe his anger. "It is no matter now, Loki. He has paid well for his mistake."

His eyes were hard as he considered her words, his jaw clenched and his mouth pulled into a tight line. He breathed heavily through his nose, but eventually his shoulders relaxed and his fist loosened, his long fingers curling around her hand and holding it tight in a surprisingly intimate gesture.

Without warning, his free hand darted out to grip the collar of her cloak, tugging it down and pulling her forward sharply, his eyes focused on the bruise at her jaw. "Did he do this?" he asked softly. She bit her lip and nodded, not liking the darkness in his eyes. "Oh, he will lose _two_ limbs," he growled, releasing her and rising to his feet, turning as if to leave.

Sága jumped to her feet, letting the book fall to the ground, snatching at his arms and pulling him back to her. "Loki, don't, please. It's only a bruise. He's the one with the concussion, remember? He's the one having to visit the healers. _He has paid well_."

His jaw was clenched, his nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed; but he allowed her to pull him back to his chair, and sat back down with great reluctance. "And why haven't you?" he asked, his voice still tight. "Visited the healers, I mean. Or at least healed this yourself?"

She shrugged, picking up the book she'd dropped and placing it atop one of the others. "I visited the healers on the first day of training, but they did not take kindly to my requests for aid. For an Asgardian, my wounds would have been negligible at most. I thought it best not to waste their time again. And I do not know any healing magic."

His eyes had begun to burn again at the thought of the healers turning away; but his fury faded into surprise at her last words. "No healing magic? You can transport yourself immediately, anywhere you wish, but you don't know even a simple healing spell?"

She shrugged again, relieved that he was more intent on teasing her than on committing violence. "My magic is instinctual, as natural to me as breathing. But I had been living on Midgard; who do you think would I have possibly found to teach me spells?"

A corner of his mouth twitched up in what was almost a chuckle, but it faded quickly. He sat there silently for a long moment, eyes roaming over her in appraisal. "Take off your clothes."

Sága frowned, pulling away from him. "_What_ did you just say to me?"

He rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh, as though _she_ was the one saying something ridiculous. "Take off your clothes, that I may _heal_ you," he clarified.

Her frown deepened, and she watched him closely for a moment, searching for any sign of deception. When she found none, she reached up to unpin her cloak and remove it. "You couldn't have just _said_ that?" She pulled her tunic off slowly, hesitantly, leaving her in her leggings and bra. That would do for now; she did not trust herself to be entirely bare before him. "Are women normally so enamored by you that they will immediately undress at nothing more than your word to do so?"

It was his turn to shrug now, paired with an arrogant smirk. "I am a prince of Asgard," he reminded, leaning in close and brushing his fingertips against her jaw. "_Normally_, people do as I say. And I am Loki, so most would rather not hear my motives, lest they be forced to admit that my actions are valid."

His touch was gentle and cool and refreshing. She felt the faint thrum of magic, familiar, but distinctly different from her own. It felt…thicker, or fuller, or…somehow more substantive than hers, a cloud or fog compared to her mist. The soreness in her jaw eased away; but he leaned in closer rather than drawing away, speaking softly against her ear. "When I bed you, it will be of your instigation. You will not need me to tell you what to do."

She should slap him for such insolence; but his nearness, his fingers tracing light patterns against her neck and jaw, and his cool breath against her ear flustered her beyond belief. He pulled away with a grin, noting the flush to her cheeks and the way she wouldn't meet his eye. With a low chuckle, he lowered his gaze and his hands, pulling away her bandages and transferring magic over her skin to heal her wounds.

"You are far too confident of your charm, Loki."

His lips curled into a wicked smirk. "Not at all. It is just that I am patient enough to wait for you to come around."

She smacked his arm; but it was accompanied by a laugh, which took most of the force out of it. He gripped his arm with an overdramatic wail, "So this is how you murdered Brandr!" which only made her laugh harder. Before she knew it, he was in her lap, tickling mercilessly, and she was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down her cheeks.

This was the most ridiculous man she had ever met. His moods were all over the place, and his transitions between them were as rapid as they were unpredictable. She only vaguely recognized the feel of his magic pouring from his hands and easing away her cuts and scrapes. Mostly she laughed and cried and tried to push him off, wondering if she would ever grow accustomed to him.

Sághildr was saved from her torture when the library door opened and a maid walked in, finding her in a state of undress with Loki in her lap, his hands splayed all over her bare skin. He clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling her lingering laughs and labored breaths. His expression was devoid of any shame or embarrassment as he looked to the maid expectantly, crossing his legs and propping his chin in his free hand as if there was nothing wrong.

The poor woman's eyes were wide open and her face was bright red as she bowed before him. "Please e-excuse my intrusion, your highness. Prince Thor requests the pleasure of your company as he dines with Lady Sif and the Warriors Three."

He rolled his eyes with a groan, looking down at Sága who was still struggling to regain her breath. "I'm sure Thor is the only one who would consider my company a pleasure. But I suppose I could bear it if you went with me, Sághildr. Or I could just stay right here for the rest of the night?" She shook her head furiously, trying to shove him off though her hands were pinned. "No? Then you'll go with me?" She glared at him, but nodded. "Splendid." He turned back to the maid. "Please tell my brother that Lady Sághildr and I will be joining them shortly."

He slowly slid from her lap and stood, removing his hands as the maid bowed and turned to go. "Now, take off your pants," he instructed, causing the poor, flustered maid to hurry her steps, practically racing out of the library to avoid seeing any further indecency.

Sága grabbed her tunic and hit him with it before putting it back on, tugging her boots off, and shimmying out of her leggings. "Great, thank you for that. I can't wait to hear the rumors that will spring from this!"

He shrugged, kneeling before her and pressing his magic into the few cuts and bruises on her legs. "It is no matter. Everyone is still reeling from what you did to that idiot swordsman. They think you too dangerous to have the confidence to question your decency now."

She leaned back, wrapping her arms around herself and considering his words, trying to decide whether that knowledge was a comfort or not. "And you? Do you think I am dangerous?"

He smirked. "Certainly not. I _know_ you are. I think only that I have chosen my friend wisely." He placed his hands on her knees and stood, looking down at her with a gentle smile. "There, now. Is that better?"

She stood and stretched, surprised at the renewed quickness of her movements and the lack of pain and soreness. "That is _much_ better! Thank you, Loki." He bowed his head, and stepped back to give her room to get dressed again. Fastening her cloak, she grinned up at him. "We had better get going. It would be a shame to keep your brother waiting."

He scoffed at the thought, but put his arm around her shoulders and began to lead her toward the door. She glanced back, meaning to at least put her books away, but he kept pulling her along. "They will be here when you return tomorrow," he assured, opening the door and leading her out into the hall.

"Oh? You think I will return here tomorrow?"

He shrugged, nonchalant. "You will if you wish me to teach you magic."

Sága froze, her feet planted, her mouth hanging open. He turned to face her, brow raised in expectation. "You… You will teach me magic?"

"If you wish it."

She hurled herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace, burying her head in his chest. No one was ever kind to her in this way, to offer her something so freely, simply because she desired it. "Thank you," she murmured softly.

Slowly, his arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her close, one hand resting over her hair. "You are most welcome. But do not think I will go easy on you," he warned.

She laughed, pulling away. "You had better not!" she scolded with a grin. He kept his arm around her and steered her down the halls, toward dinner with Thor and his friends. She couldn't deny that she wasn't looking forward to it; but with Loki there, it might not be horrible.

He hesitated with his hand on the door, noticing her trepidation. "What is the matter, Sághildr?"

"It's nothing," she shrugged. "It's just… I have not had the pleasure of speaking with Thor's friends since, uh…since I first ran into you. I'm not greatly looking forward to a repeat."

When he looked at her, his eyes were filled with affection and compassion and understanding—and not a hint of trickery. "I will not let them harm you again, Sághildr. We will make it known that Brandr's condition is due to his words against your mother. They will never insult her again. You have my word; I will rip their tongues out before I allow them to mock you again. No one else does, and for good reason; but _you_ may trust me."

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. There was something pleading in his eyes as well, begging her not to leave him to face them alone, either. So she unwound his arm from her shoulders and held his hand tightly, nodding. He opened the door, exposing them to the group's raucous laughter and what sounded like Volstagg's singing, loud and out of tune.

She knew how foolish and ill-advised it must be, clinging to the Trickster, the god of lies. But she gripped his hand all the tighter, letting his presence wash over her, tamping down her anxiety and setting her anger to simmer rather than boil.

It felt like she could do anything, with him by her side.


End file.
